


We'll Put This One in the 'Win' Column

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, No Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-03
Updated: 2007-05-03
Packaged: 2018-12-27 04:13:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12073302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: But he still shouldn’t have been surprised when Michael ripped his head off about abandoning Brian, again.





	We'll Put This One in the 'Win' Column

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes:

This one is probably not quite as funny as the others. Justin's been ignored by Brian for more than three months, I think he's allowed just a smidgen of angst. But, you know how it ends, that should make it bearable, right?

Thanks as always to Zod, once again she worked her magic punctuation gifts on this one, and I love her forever for it

* * *

It took Brian three months, two weeks, four days, and fifteen hours to change the rules of engagement. 

And after he did, Justin spent approximately fifteen minutes praying to _everybody's_ deity that he hadn't just fucked up three months, two weeks, four days, and fifteen hours of very careful innuendo, precisely placed comments, and tons of patience, in trying to play by the new rules. 

He hadn't. 

And, in thanks, he's going to be spending a fortune on flowers for every fucking member of their fucked-up little family. 

+

When it comes right down to it, Brian Kinney is an over-sexed, alcoholic, drug-abusing, emotionally stunted _asshole_ who gives an amazing rim-job. 

But he's Justin's emotionally stunted asshole, and he's rather predictable, and the rim-jobs are pretty much just a side benefit to the fairly spectacular adventure that is being Brian Kinney's One True Love, which means it's pretty easy to make the decision to just wait out the asshole and his newest plan to pretend like Justin Taylor isn't his soul mate. 

Justin knew it was going to be rough after he left. He was prepared for awkward phone calls and bitchy comments, and honestly, he was prepared to be flat-out ignored. Brian didn't think he'd ever see Justin again, really truly believed Justin was better off without him, and was fond of pushing people off cliffs when he thought it was what they needed most. 

What Justin managed to forget was _the Family_ : his mothers and brothers (and irritating little hustlers) and sisters and aunts and uncles—surrogate, self-titled, and biological alike—and their meddling, and opinions, and the thinly veiled threats that went hand in hand with the passive aggressive interrogations and the openly obnoxious questioning. Not to mention the absolute refusal to believe that the Taylor-Kinneys were _ever_ going to be able to take care of themselves. (And wouldn't Brian just _shit_ if he knew that's how Justin had started thinking of them in his head.) 

But he still shouldn't have been surprised when Michael ripped his head off about abandoning Brian—again. 

+

Justin would love to say he had a plan. But the fact of the matter was that the Brian Kinney Operating Manual was in need of some seriously hefty updates and he hadn't quite had the time to make them before he left. So the closest thing he had to a plan was surviving New York until he could slip back under the wire without anybody noticing. 

He got a job, (Martin's Family Restaurant – Proudly Serving the Finest American Cuisine to America's Proudest Homos Since 1985. Open 24 Hours.) And found an apartment that wouldn't decimate his budget in the first month, (it was worse than the last one, small but charmless would have been an overstatement.) And made sure to find time to call Pittsburgh as often as he possibly could, in between double shifts, frenetic painting, and networking in the art community. 

Ted kept him updated on the progress at Babylon, ("No, Brian doesn't talk to me about it, you know how he is." "Good ole' Brian. Well the dry-wallers are done now…") 

Debbie gave him all the gossip from the diner, ("Kiki's got a new boyfriend; you shoulda heard what Brian had to say about that one!") 

Emmett regaled him with tales of breeder dinner parties, loves found and lost on a nightly basis, and Brian's continued refusal to patronize Popperz, ("And of course the pickings are pret-ty slim at Woody's, but I guess old habits die hard 'cause he's still keeping up his one-fuck-only policy.") 

Michael was always busy, or didn't answer, or when he couldn't come up with a good excuse to get off the phone, decidedly reserved—until just a bit before Babylon was set to open its doors again and Justin called him on it. 

Michael exploded. 

"Jesus Christ, Justin! What do you expect? You fucking ran off and _abandoned him again_! I know we're business partners! I know we're friends! But I was his friend first, and I'm his _best friend_ and I can't just pretend like I'm okay with the fact that you're being a fucking selfish little shit, _again_ , and broke his fucking heart! Again!" 

Justin was…stunned. Absolutely, positively _stunned_. He stammered and sputtered and stuttered before finally reconnecting his mouth to his mind and came up with a coherent argument. "Okay, first of all? You didn't seem to care when I left him because he refused to give me what I wanted. In fact, you defended _me_ to _him_ when he came calling. I left this time because he literally can't give me what I want, not in Pittsburgh, because what I want is in New York, and you know as well as anybody else that he practically pushed me out the _fucking door_. 

"And second? I didn't _abandon_ him, I didn't break up with him, I haven't stopped loving him, and I know! I fucking _know_ he hasn't stopped loving me. We aren't living together anymore, but that has never defined our relationship. Not entirely. And it still doesn't. So be pissed off at me, Michael, hate my fucking guts if you want to. But you know this is going to be hard on him, and he's going to think I _have_ abandoned him if we let him. And if you really give a shit about him, and you really give a shit about me, and you really have moved past wanting me gone then you'll _help_ me, goddamn it, and not encourage him and his fucking 'I don't deserve to be happy and loved' bullshit!" 

Michael was quiet for so long that Justin had to check the display to make sure the call was still connected. 

When Michael finally responded, relief swept through him like a warm summer wind. "Fuck. _Shit_. Justin… _shit_." 

Justin chucked softly. "So, I have some of the drawings done for the next issue, have you decided what to call the new villain yet?" 

+

Justin made sure to tell Emmett all about the club one of his coworkers had taken him to—the really hot guys, the really good drugs, the bartenders with a heavy hand. He might have also mentioned how much Brian was going to love it when he came up to visit, ("Ooooh! So that's why he won't go to Popperz! He's got a whole new barrel to fish in, just waiting for a long weekend.") 

He told Ted about the business practices, ("No, see, the less-attractive bartenders don't get as many customers, but the ones who figure out they mix the drinks stronger buy more drinks. And the hottest bartenders get more customers all the time, and aren't spending as much on alcohol." "That's…kind of brilliant.") And how with three backrooms it was never too crowded, or too dirty, and it's a shame they couldn't expand Babylon 'up.' ("Well, that just gives Brian more incentive to come visit you more often. He is going to come visit you, isn't he?") 

When he sent Mel and Linds the e-mail with instructions on how to let Gus talk to him on the webcam he possibly just said "Certain people in The Pitts decided it would be easier to keep in contact," and forgot to mention that 'certain people' were Molly and Mom. And when Gus asked excitedly if he could see Daddy, Justin told him he was sure that if Gus asked, Daddy would be more than happy to talk on webcam. And told Linds he was surprised Brian hadn't brought it up already. 

When Debbie complained how moody Brian was, and how he wouldn't talk about Justin, and how maybe this wasn't such a great idea but "I'm so fuckin' _proud_ of you for going after your dreams, Sunshine!" Justin just said "Well you know how he is, doesn't like to let people think he has a heart, won't admit to actually trying to do something nice or good. And it's hard, you know? Being so far apart when we'd just gotten used to being together again. I'm not surprised he's moody. He'll get over it once we adjust." 

So with Michael acting like everything was fine, Debbie and Emmett and Ted convinced Brian was just _pretending_ like it was the end of the world, and Mel and Linds telling everyone about the webcam, it was only a matter of days before everyone quit with the worry and the gloom and doom and went back to pretending like nothing but location had changed. And Justin finally felt like he had a chance at having it all. No one should have to choose between his dreams and the man he loves, and Justin was determined to have both. 

+

Pretty soon Justin was watching Gus paint twice a week, and talking about visits to the Central Park Zoo with 'me, an Daddy, an you, Justin!' 

Cynthia started e-mailing him with requests for things to taunt Brian with to get him to "take a fucking vacation already, before he fires the _entire_ art department!" 

Michael was actually snickering about how frustrated Brian was with everyone's refusal to recognize that Justin was out of their lives, and Emmett kept asking if Brian had snuck up for a clandestine visit yet. 

It was the best plan he never came up with. 

+

Weeks passed, and Justin finally began to settle into his new life. He worked long hours at Martin's, painted whenever the mood took him, and spent Sunday afternoons in the park doing sketches of people's kids until his hand gave out. 

He got a few paintings shown in a couple of small shows and sold a couple more in starving artist sales. For the most part he was pretty happy, and with the Family giving him constant and detailed updates on Brian, he almost didn't miss him. 

Daphne came up for a weekend and promised to do what she could to invoke Brian's protective instincts and see if that would push him to get over himself and fucking come visit. 

Michael got excited about changing the look of Gayopolis and started talking about bringing Hunter and Ben up for a mini-vacation before school started again. 

His mom called to ask what she could do to make sure Brian knew that just because Justin was living in New York didn't mean Brian wasn't still considered family. Justin suggested dropping by with some food. "Jambalaya would be perfect. Just say some shit about making too much and knowing it's his favorite, if nothing else the look on his face should be good for a laugh." 

By the two month mark Justin was even starting to enjoy coming up with new and subtle ways to keep everyone convinced that everything was fine between him and Brian, and that Brian was just trying to pretend like he was still the asshole. 

It was only a matter of time before Brian gave in and admitted everything could actually _be_ fine and that it was only distance, not time, that didn't matter, and that Justin could be the best homosexual he could possibly be and still be with Brian at the same time. 

+

Justin marked the moment exactly three months since he'd walked out of the loft by getting blindingly and exceedingly shit-faced drunk. 

He cried and he threw paint brushes covered with yellow ocher and royal blue and magenta and citrus orange at the walls. He broke a few glasses and smashed a couple plates and tossed an entire can of paint at the tiny refrigerator he'd bought after an exceptionally good night of tips. 

He admitted he missed Brian like…like…like grass missed the rain, and that was okay damn it! Because there had never existed a love as grand and big and fucking epic as theirs and he was the designated drama princess in the relationship, you stupid bastard, and he'll throw a fucking temper tantrum three hundred miles away where no one is around to see it if he fucking wants to. 

But he never, not even once, picked up the phone to call Brian and tell him that there wasn't anyone to care if his hand cramped up, and no one to tell him if that dream last night was an actual real memory or something his mind made up to fill in the blanks, and no one to hold him while he pretended he wasn't crying because he hadn't quite quit dreaming of blinding white light and blood and screams and dead bodies. 

Because he may be a drama princess but he's not some little faggot anymore who cries over things he can't control. 

+

The next morning he rolled his eyes at himself, thanked God he hadn't drunk-dialed Brian and fucked everything up, spared a moment to be proud of himself for maybe possibly having grown up a little bit, cleaned up the nightmare of a mess he'd made, went out for new brushes, bought new paints, and worked through the hang-over and the hand cramps and finished the most fucking beautiful painting of Brian he'd ever imagined being able to create. 

He'd give it until Gus's birthday and then all bets were off and he was going to yell the fucking house down if that's what it took to get through Brian's thick, stubborn, stupid skull. Because this was fucking ridiculous. 

+

Three months, two weeks, four days, fifteen hours and thirty minutes after Justin left Brian, he decided to call this one a 'win.' 

To: Pitts.Sunshine@gmail.com   
From: BAKinney@kinnetik.com   
Subject: [re:] Fucking clients   
  
Justin Taylor wrote:   
  
>Brian Kinney wrote:   
>Fucking Forrester cancelled on me AGAIN, the fourth time in as many weeks. Asshole.   
>So I'll be done early tonight. I was thinking I'd stop by the new Indian place on my   
>way home.   
>   
>B.   
>   
>Mom ate there last week; she said it was pretty good. She liked the curry chicken. What   
>time will you be home?   
>   
>Later, Justin   
  
7 or 7:30. I have to go fire the art department now.   
  
Later

+

By seven o'clock Justin was a fucking nervous wreck. He'd picked up Italian from the place downstairs and had a bottle of cheap wine open and his cell phone in his hand. 

He'd talked to Mikey a couple hours ago who'd said Brian seemed stressed and pissed off but hadn't said anything about Justin, and agreed the e-mail was weird. 

He came up with and discarded more than a dozen conversation openers and excuses for calling before deciding to just wing it. 

He wondered if Brian was hoping Justin would have gotten on a plane and was waiting for him in the loft, and imagined how he'd react when Justin wasn't there. Almost left for the airport right that second. 

+

Six hours and forty minutes after Brian had finally caved, Justin pressed the speed dial for the loft—because Brian had never bothered with caller-id—and held his breath. 

He had no plan, no idea whether or not he was doing the right thing, but all he could do was try. Because Brian Kinney believed in fucking, and sucking, and Brian Kinney never chased anybody, and never did repeats. But this time, Brian Kinney (would do anything, be anything, for the man that he loves,) made the first move for a second time. And that had to count for something. 

+

Justin heard the _click_ after the second ring and finally remembered to breathe.


End file.
